Possibilities Into Realities
by Chaux-De-Citron
Summary: There are many creatures in and around Middle-Earth. Some known, some unknown. What side do they stand on during this War of the Ring? For a certain race, scholars of great knowledge, they wish the ruin of the one who scattered them like seeds on the wind. The wheels of Fate begin to move, but down which path shall they go?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, as much as I may wish to...

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Chapter 1: First Impressions

The sun shone with a vibrancy that seemed to cast the road behind her in a colorless pallor. Dust swirled among her bare feet; the worn hem of a simple white dress swaying to and from. Wild and unbound hair bounced in curls so chaotic, one might have mistaken her to be a maiden of Rohan had it not been for one thing. It was this one thing that had the gate guards earnestly sending a messenger to Lord Elrond for permission to grant entry. Her ears, as pointed as an Elf's, but wide-shaped and angled outward in a more similar fashion as a Hobbit's. Such a fair Hobbit or such a strange Elf neither could be easily determined. Lithe and limber, with twigs and stray leaves sticking from hair too curly to belong to an Elf of Middle-Earth, it gave her an image of a tree; a tree with a delicate pointed chin and exuberant green eyes, an expression of mirth and mischievousness buried beneath etiquette.

The Elven guards wanted answers, but she would speak of nothing until she met with the Lord Elrond. And it was so that the messenger returned, bearing tidings that she be taken to his study out of sight of the other inhabitants. Secreted away, behind elegant buildings, beautifully crafted and seemingly absorbing the rays of sunlight; into one such building she was led and taken up stairs that curled in a semi-spiral. There, waiting at the top of the stairs was the Lord Elrond, unchanged by time, only the wisdom in his eyes having aged.

He dismissed the guide without a word whilst she gave Elrond a small smile, one that was subtly returned. "Word arrived of a Wild Woman on my doorstep. An elf, but not an elf; with green eyes that shone brighter than jewels. I dared to hope that it could have only been you. You who escaped me so long ago, Druid."

"I left without giving you my name, a courtesy I hereby extend and ask for pardon for the delay. I am Erebol, daughter of Calenol and Elcherth the Traveler, an age has passed us and here we meet again, this time by my own means rather than fate." Her speech was slow and archaic, such an old sound that the Elven Lord had not since heard in the centuries since the disappearance of the Ring. "Would you do me the favor of introducing your guests, Lord Elrond?" Green eyes pinpointed the slightly open door to Elrond's left, where she could hear what seemed to be the breath of two Men.

A moment passed before it opened fully, a wizened old man and a ruffian. Not to be deceived by such appearances, she kept her guard up even as she heard the Elf-Lord's words, seamlessly translated into Westron. "I introduce to you, Mithrandir, Gandalf the Grey, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"Names you give me and names they powerlessly remain. Long have I slept so that the bloodlines of many have come and gone, who you descend from I do not know, but Mithrandir… On my travels here, the gossip of trees beheld my ears to the presence of these beings in Middle-Earth, Istari that were not present during my time. Even now, I sense the power you hold and it is frightening indeed." Not as familiar with Westron, she hesitated with words unfamiliar, a slow and steady breath. Gandalf looked to be a kind and elderly grandfather, but the hidden strength she could feel from him diminished that image. Something seemed a little off about the Ranger though. He seemed too old to be a Man with that appearance. "You, could you be… Numenorean? Those people have survived until now… It was unexpected…"

"And what of you?" Aragorn volleyed, "None have seen a shadow or glimpse of your kinds since the days of the Elves, before even the first war against Sauron. Long have you fallen to myth and tall tales told 'round roaring fires and to young children." Her eyes dim as though hidden behind a veil, "It is as I expected. The horror we went through kept us from returning to the world. I dare to come out because it is my path destined by the Valar. A path I dare not revoke."

Elrond broke his silence, bringing the attention back towards himself, his voice wistfully recalling memories; descriptions painting memories in the open air between them. "T'was a dark time. The war between the Elves and Sauron had long begun without an ending in sight. The Dark Lord invaded Eriador with a force that could not be matched, backed by treachery and malice that overthrew the wisdom of the Three Rings. I was sent by Gil-Galad to Eregion, where I dwelled for a time. However, it was not long until Sauron's attention turned to Eregion and we were laid to waste. Celebrimbor was slain in the midst of the battle while I, myself, fled with a remnant of the Noldor. We would later begin to build up what is now Imladris… There was a time when I returned to the abandoned Eregion to search in vain hope for survivors. It was then; I was close to a thickened grove of trees that seemed untouched by the surrounding damage. Soft music, so utterly out of place, drifted to my ears from within.

Carefully, I treaded until she was within my sight. They, who had passed from all knowledge only years prior, so it was not yet completely unusual to see one of her kind. She sang and played a strange instrument, and even now those words I have kept close to my heart echo in my mind. It was those words that led me to fight in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves; a great prophecy that bespoke of peace and land free from evil. I, who also had the gift of foresight, stepped forward to ask if this future was clear to her, or foggy and apt to change. Upon seeing me depart from the shade of the trees, she fled. I managed to catch up to her despite her impressive speed, and questioned her clearly. She was so frightened, a deer facing a hunter and preparing for its inevitable death. Seeing as such, I could only release her after giving my name."

Gandalf nodded slowly, his sharp eyes twinkling as though a hidden puzzle piece had made itself known. "This prophecy, might I hear it?"

Erebol gave a slight bow, the edge of her lips curling upwards in a smile, "Allow me the honor, Mithrandir." She swallowed and the old, old tune awoke in her mind. Her voice seemed to caress its listeners, begging them to hear her words and take heed.

"In a world so far away

At the end of a closing day

A little child was born and raised

Deep in the forest on a hidden place

Mother never saw his face

Ancient spirits of the forest

Made him king of elves and trees

He was the only human being

Who lived in harmony

In perfect harmony

He found shelter under the trees

He grew up in their company

They became his family."

Her voice rang with an echo, as if a greater being were speaking through her, and silence reigned in the wake of her song. After a considerable moment, the Elf-Lord gave a heavy sigh, "Now that I hear it once more, I believe I know who it is the prophecy speaks of. Aragorn is the only human to have been raised as an elf, brought here during a dire time right after his birth and given the name Erestor. Imladris is hidden to those who do not know the way, and he is yet, the heir of a line of Kings. Who else it could speak of, I know not. Shadows have crept from the footholds of Mordor throughout the free lands. My foresight grows dim, and what was once as clear as a still pool of water has now been disrupted and hidden by endless ripples."

Gandalf piped in, events from the council still fresh in his mind, "It seems those who have the gift cannot see much while snippets of the future are shown in dreams to those without it. Boromir and his brother told of such an experience which brought him here." Erebol stepped closer, keeping her eyes on Aragorn as if trying to pry all his secrets from him through just a glance, "While we cannot be sure that the one spoken of is Aragorn, what we can be sure of, is that the prophecy still holds true. All through these years, I have not felt the coming of another future. This is one that will happen should you continue to tread your current path."

"Indeed." The Ranger spoke up once more, "Even if it is not I, it is a future I would give my life for. An era of peace, it deems, and an age of freedom is what we seek."

"My foresight, or rather, the lack thereof has told me one thing. Imladris is no longer safe. A seer of your capability should find haven in the woods of Lorien. Seek the Lady Galadriel and together, you might be able to turn the tide of this war through sight that surpasses even my own." Elrond spoke logic, it would be a wise decision for her to remain in safety, after all, she was not a fighter by any means. "I can choose several skilled elves to escort you there safely-"

"Actually, pardon the interruption, old friend, but we were just speaking of the possible routes through to Mordor for Frodo, were we not? Most of the chosen passages would bring him in close quarters with Lothlorien. The chosen Nine companions to match the might of the Nine Nazgul, would that not be the safest escort for her?"

Elrond appeared displeased with the options, "Placing her in such quarters with the Ring will only alert Sauron to her presence, the presence of a race that rejected him so long ago. The Dark Lord does not forget. Adding to that danger is the possibilities of skirmishes that could take the life of any of the warriors; do not say they can protect both Frodo and Ereboleth."

"Do not place so little trust in the ones you are to choose. I, too, desire to protect Frodo with my life, but with similarly nine companions of the same desire, there will be strength enough in us to protect one more person. The journey to Lothlorien seems the tamest whence you compare the danger of crossing the free lands under attack of Sauron and Saruman." Aragorn and Gandalf both seemed to want her to travel with their Ring-Bearer. For what purpose, she knew not of, but it could not simply be because they could. An ulterior motive, perhaps, but what had she to offer other than her Sight?

It was then that it hit her, like a broad slap across the face, "You mean to use my foresight to chance the danger before you." If they truly wanted to use her for such a purpose, she would abide it, but they must know the consequences, "The blood of Seers flows through my veins, but the future is ever-changing. I see glimpses that change with every moment; each choice made will create new pathways, like a web of a spider. It is fickle and some things may remain hidden from even my eyes. I cannot guide you clearly through less dangerous paths." Aragorn read her words for what they truly meant, "You mean to come with us. Had you not such an intention, you would not have declared such an ample warning."

Elrond, having been clearly off-put, could do naught but give in. "So be it. Ereboleth will journey with the Nine companions until you shall reach Lothlorien. A scout, I will send to bring word of your impending arrival, it would not be good at all to appear unannounced before the Lord and Lady. As it is now, this decision had not been made clear to me for good or for ill."

For many an hour, the four talked of many things, Aragorn, curious as to the ways of the Druids was quite inquisitive. It was only when the dinner bell rang, that Elrond dismissed the three to go eat, the council meeting having lasted long through breakfast and lunch. She idly followed behind Mithrandir, soaking in the sight of Imladris, so foreign, yet it was almost a relic of the time before Sauron's first fall.

Anxiousness set it. She was born during the time the Druids were in hiding, and had fled into a world unknown to her. Elrond had been the first elf she had seen, Aragorn, the first Numenorean, and Gandalf, the first Istari. What other races inhabited this wide land of Middle-Earth? Neither stories nor tree-gossip could have prepared her for the sight within the dinner hall. Diminutive men with beards that reached their knees, a large Man who looked as though he could break her in his hands with hair a dark ruddy red, and… miniature men? Beardless, though their feet were quite hairy, these creatures could pass for children had it not been for the maturity of their faces.

A story she remembered. Her father had often told her many things before bedtime, and one such story had explained the kinship between Druids and a race of beings that he called Hobbits. Earth-loving Halflings that shared the same adoration for nature, though they were not as fair nor as intellectual. Not a slight on them, for the Valar works in many strange ways. Sometimes ignorance is a bliss that cannot be regained.

"Might it be the fairest and tallest Hobbit I have yet seen, or be my eyes deceived?" One of the short men, Hobbits, she reminded herself, approached her, a gallant hand over his heart as though he were swooning. "Uh…" Her chance to introduce herself dramatically and in a way so unforgettable and all she could muster was a mumble! How utterly embarrassing!

As though sensing her plight, Gandalf placed a grandfatherly hand onto her shoulder and nudged her forward. "A deceit that cannot be blamed, none has laid eyes on her kind for an age. This is Erebol, daughter of the Druids." While not so grand as she would have imagined, the effect was still satisfactory. As though someone had fired a flaming arrow through the hall, all eyes turned to face her. Perhaps they had expected someone a bit more outlandish, and she wondered if perhaps maybe she should have asked Elrond to dismiss her earlier to wash herself.

Regardless of her appearance, the Hobbit in front of her grasped her hand and tugged her towards the table where more Hobbits sat, great plates of food in front of them, "I'm Pippin Took, intelligence o' the Shire!" Nervousness gripped her and she must have looked a little ill for a seat was hurriedly cleared for her and Erebol was urged to sit. A plate of various fruit and breads were placed in front of her, and though she was not quite sure she could stomach it all, the chubbier Hobbit who gave her the food, looked at her with eyes so expectant, that she could only grab a random fruit and nibble at it slowly.

Surprise gripped her as someone poked her ear, nearly dropping her fruit in the process. To her right was a Hobbit, a mischievous smile so identical to the brash one from before. A mop of dark blond curly hair sat atop his head and flipped out around ears that jutted in a wide arch. "M' name's Merry, Merry Brandybuck! A Druid, en? We Hobbits tells our kids stories at bedtime. I myself heard many about your kind being able t' fly, right soarin' through trees and sky. Is it true?"

She blinked. He blinked. She blinked twice. He blinked twice. She suddenly began to giggle, Westron words slowly dripping from her lips despite the occasional stumble , "Fly? That's a right tale, there. If ever I could fly, I'd make myself a home in the sky. Those clouds, are they as soft as they appear to my eyes? Speed, we have, and great sprinters across leagues of land, but fly? That's a tale left to children." While he looked a little disappointed, he remained cheerful and his laughter added to hers. Her attention was drawn by the clearing of a throat, the round Hobbit giving a shy smile, "I'm known as Samwise Gamgee, milady. Have ever I heard such stories about how you can talk to growing things; even cause them to sprout out of seasons!"

A Hobbit with clear blue eyes smiled widely and clapped a jovial hand onto Sam's back, "Sam here, is the best gardener in all the Shire! If anyone can grow something with many flowers and bearings, it shall be Sam."

Her smile brightened considerably upon hearing this, any friend to the Green was a friend of hers, "Trees speak on their own, gossiping day in and day out, not much to do when your roots go so deep beneath the surface of the earth, stuck where you grow. If ever you want to hear what they have to say, you just have to listen. They speak slowly, but all you have to do is empty out your ears for the words that will come."

The bearded man spoke then, his voice resounding like rocks rolling down a mountainside, strong, coarse, yet oddly it was a nice sound to listen to. If she remembered correctly, her rather eccentric father had always been jealous of the beards of the Dwarves. Such a large beard and short stature, she was quite sure that this too, must be a dwarf rather than a Hobbit.

"You are not as solemn as these Elves, looking down at us from their noses. Quite jovial, an oddity for sure; no such meetings have occurred between our people and no past grievances lie between a future friendship. What say you?"

A bearing of friendship? So soon? Who was she to deny someone who wanted to be friends? The dwarves could be great allies. She responded in words favorable to them both, "I say we should share many great times in the near future. I dare to say I wish to visit your great mountain halls. Stories I have heard from my father, of glittering jewels and works of craftsmanship that have no equal on Middle-Earth."

The dwarf blustered, his bearded face keeping hidden his embarrassment and pride at hearing the greatness of Dwarf-work had even reached the ears of long-hidden Druids. "Might I ask your name, Master Dwarf?"

"Gimli! Gimli, son of Gloin!"

"Such is a meeting that will forever be remembered, Master Gimli. Friendship between Dwarves of the stone cities and Druids of the borough; might we survive through this age and to the next." Gimli raised his fist as if it were holding something until he remembered it was empty. "Hospitality in abundance, but such a deadening lack of ale! Fruits, breads, and cheeses all spread before me, yet my belly hungers for the taste of meat ripe off the bone!" Erebol nodded silently, though should she think back to when she last tasted meat, it could have only been before she slept the age. The taste was unfamiliar to her now, and could not be recalled despite her best attempts.

So it went on, idle chatter over the dinner table. Erebol's table with both the Hobbits and the Dwarves was most boisterous in comparison to the Elves and even the Men whom, she had learned, had come from the south. Plates were taken away, full bellies patted, and the talk began to fade to silence. It was then Aragorn came to her, at his side a She-Elf in beauty unsurpassed as she had yet seen. "I introduce to you, Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond." Directing his words now to Arwen, he continued in the same breath, "This is Erebol, Druid of the Old Age."

Arwen smiled kindly, coaxing out one of her own, Sindarin poured from her lips like a gentle stream, "The Valar has granted us your safe return to this world. Allow me to show you to your room and you might rest from your long journey to the haven of Imladris." Rising from the bench slowly so as not to make a fool of herself, she chuckled lightly, returning her kind words, "I'll rest as I can, please show the way."

The She-Elf led her through the maze of doors and walls, coming upon a door already opened with several handmaidens inside. "These elves will help you wash and should you have need of anything specific, let them know and I will have it be done." Her eyes roamed the length of the room, simplistic yet functional. A single bed next to the broad ledged window, a chest of drawers and on top of said chest a pack with several clothes folded beside it.

Erebol willfully kept herself from blushing in shame, when she had to tell Elrond that she had come empty-handed with naught but the clothes on her back. A good host he was, and complaints he had none, but it was kindness she would be sure to repay. Erebol parted her lips to dismiss Arwen when her eyes caught the glimpse of metal. "A bow? Why would a bow be placed with my pack? I have no use for one."

"Surely, along your journey you cannot expect to safely make passage? We gift you a bow to use as your defense." Erebol gave a shaky little smile, her stomach churning at the thought of shooting something, "You misunderstand. It is not that I think I do not need defense, but more that I have no knowledge on the use of it." The look on Arwen's face might have been comical had it not been due to her lack of ability. Faced before a She-Elf, she felt considerably useless. What good was her Sight when she could not hold her own against even a child? Elves boasted both knowledge and strength, yet why could she not do the same. The very thought of grasping a bow to kill had her hands trembling.

Arwen's eyes drifted down the Erebol's hands, shaking ever so slightly. The Druid was afraid, but whether it be pride or shame that kept her mute, she could not know now. For the time being she would let the matter go, but she had heard of her father's intentions to send the Druid to their kin in Lorien, but in this state, she would have no peace of mind in sending Erebol to her sure doom. Slipping past her, she took the bow and satchel of arrows in her own hands. "I will keep this for you. Do not dwell on it now. Wash away your worries and the anxieties that trouble you. Rest for the night and dawn shall greet you a new day."

Arwen closed the door softly behind her, leaving Erebol in the room with the handmaiden. Said elf did not speak when Erebol looked to her, only motioning to a corner where the ground was depressed into two stairs leading to a tub filled with steaming water, the clear surface obscured by many flower petals of varying hues. She jumped when the elf began to undress her and she modestly covered herself before going down and hesitantly stepping into the water. Despite the steam, its heat did not scald her. Easing in comfortably, the handmaiden came to her side with a small basket of items.

"You're name. What is your name? I cannot keep referring to you as 'handmaiden'."

As she smiled, the corners of her lips quirked up even as a dimple made itself known on her left cheek. "Coraer, daughter of Menelvidh, Milady." Coraer set about cleaning her hair of twigs and leaves, wetting it and rubbing in a scented soap. As she did, Erebol worked on scrubbing the dirt from her skin.

By the end, her hair was laying flat and tame whilst her skin, though red from the scrubbing, now shone paler than before, unveiled from dust and travel dirt. Clothed in a simple green dress, the fabric made her skin sing in pleasure as it was just loose enough to allow her to breath with a neckline that dipped modestly. It draped down to the floor, her toes peeking out from beneath the hem; she did not mind going barefoot, it always felt more natural.

Having dismissed Coraer to sleep, she sat on the windowsill ledge, brushing through her wet hair for the first time since she had awoken. Below the surface of her skin, she could feel the weak, but steady, pulse that linked her to the Valar. She had long been absent from them and it would take much time before she could once more feel their strength in her veins.

Setting aside the brush, Erebol made herself comfortable for the long night, soft whispered prayers echoing through the room, swiftly spoken in a tongue long since forgotten.

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I hope you all enjoyed this~ It's my first time writing a fanfic for LotR and I hope I did a good job. I encourage criticism so if you think Erebol is starting to turn Mary Sue, by all means tell me and I'll make sure I take better care. I'll be trying to keep up an update schedule, so you can expect the 2nd chapter to be posted up next week Monday.

~Chaux-De-Citron~


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, as much as I may wish to...

So sorry about not keeping to the schedule. T^T I got sick, infected by my own sister, and ended up getting busy with pre-college stuff. Hopefully now, you'll get everything on time.

Shout out to 'Who Says It's A Rebellion' for being my first follower! Thank you so much~

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Chapter 2: Persistence Reaps Rewards

The sun drifted through the window, a pale yellow of the early morning and shadowed by naught but the stray wisps of clouds that circled the horizon mountain peaks. A knock on the door drew the attention of the woman within, hair once more curled around her face and eyes opening into a state of wakefulness. She had prayed throughout the night, never once falling to the temptation of sleep. After all, when one had slumbered for the length of an age, what were a few waking hours in comparison? "Ah, come on in!"

Standing, Erebol worked out the soreness in her legs from having sat for so long, turning stiffly to face whoever had decided to visit so early in the day. The door opened to reveal Arwen, dressed much more simply than the night before, in men's breeches and a loose tunic. In her hands were the bow and arrows that she had taken with her, and she blinked in confusion. Did Arwen still expect her to learn in the use of a bow? Normally one to jump at the chance gain more knowledge, the topic in this case was… not comforting to think of.

"I know of your uneasiness to wield a weapon, but in this case I must be impolite and insist that you try." Westron sprung from her lips as easily as Sindarin, and whilst she knew she should not be so surprised, she'd half expected them to continue conversing in the language more familiar to them both. Erebol looked down from Arwen's eyes, unable to keep contact with someone who looked so determined yet so concerned. Green irises fell onto the bow. It was such an innocent looking thing, simply wood and string, but capable of so much death. Erebol's hand rose towards it, as if to grasp it. Shaken from her thoughts; Erebol withdrew her limb and shook her head quickly, "I'm afraid it is still out of my reach. It shames me to admit that the thought of holding such a weapon fills me with fear of what it would be used for."

Departing before Arwen could truly convince her, she slipped past and down the hall. Remembering the way she had come, footsteps she retraced until the morning breeze and sunlight greeted her upturned face. Solitude was what she desired and surely there would not be many walking through the gardens so early when nature was shedding its layers to rest the winter.

The gardens seemed relatively untouched by the cold chill that had descended from the North, the shrubbery still clinging to green and blossoms displaying their last radiance. The deeper she went, the more alive it seemed; arches of intertwined vines blocking out the light until she exited into a secluded clearing. What appeared to be targets were placed at the far end and the sound she had heard earlier had become much clearer; a steady _thwack_. Peering around the bend of the archway, she took in the tall figure, golden hair braided at the sides. Such a brilliant radiance shone from him, even when her Sight saw into the realm of shadows, his light permeated through it as a sword of sunlight.

Could it be? Truly, could it be him? The mighty elf-lord whom her father had told her many such stories of? His face turned towards her, youthful, yet full of strength and wisdom. The elf-lord Glorfindel. Despite her own age, his gaze still managed to make her feel like she was naught but a child staring up into the face of a legend. He lowered his bow, not a single movement wasted, a gentle hand outstretched for her to take. Erebol moved forward, a puppet on strings, eyes locked on his hand as she reached out to lay her pale hand onto his. He exuded warmth and comfort, the hand of the Balrog-slayer who walked through the veil of death to return to Middle-Earth.

In her awe, she was quite unprepared for when Glorfindel whirled her closer to him, her back to his chest and both of her hands grasping his bow. Large hands covered hers, and she was sure her cheeks were burning as bright as the sun. Slowly, the bow was raised, an arrow nocked into place. Her hands trembled even as they drew back the drawstring together, he made it look easy, but now in his place, she could feel the strength needed to pull it back. Further and further it went until it was drawn behind her cheek. "Knowledge is not defined by idealized lines of good and evil."

The arrow released, and it echoed through Erebol's body, a wave of strength that left her boneless in intimidation. Focusing her eyes, she found the arrow dead center, surrounded by a crown of red. Releasing her, the elf-lord turned her so that she was facing him, "It is in the use that intentions are discovered to be for good or ill." He placed something into her hands, but she dare not look away from his eyes to see what it could be. "Do not fear knowledge itself."

How? How could he have seen through to the anxious thoughts that troubled her so dearly? She watched his back as he left, her eyes continuing to follow long after he had gone from her sight.

Daring, now, to look down at the gift bestowed upon her, she took in the odd shape of it; a handle attached to a string, where the string was in turn attached to a thick wooden circle. Raising it to eye level, she realized the string was of the same kind as the bow. Testing her grip on the handle, she pulled and pulled and pulled, until she felt as though all of her strength had been sucked right out of her. Yet despite her attempts, the string barely stretched at all. If this was the best she could do, she might as well launch arrows by hand and hope for the best.

Competitiveness rose within her. How could she let a toy best her in such a way? She would show Glorfindel that she could be good enough to wield a bow! A spring of determination began to well inside of her, spreading throughout her body until she felt as though she could take on the world. "That's right, Arwen. I need to find Arwen." Quickly turning onto her heel, the Druid all but fled from the garden, leaving behind only the arrows as evidence to their presence.

Arwen had been as ecstatic as she had been willing to express, diving headfirst into her training. She'd paused only for a moment to examine the device before instructing her on how to use it properly. She was glad that the she-elf had decided not to ask questions, though she guessed she already had her own suspicions. Requesting breakfast to be brought to them upon the ringing of the morning bell, they worked until the sun rose to its zenith in the sky, the chill remaining despite the warmth it gave.

Erebol, regardless of already having tired in spite of the early hour, she felt happier than she had in a long while. Her mind pulsed with new information that Arwen gave her on not only training, but also the history of the bow and many famous battles won through its use. A broad smile covered her face and she skipped on feet bare of covering towards the food hall, where she could already hear the voices of Merry and Pippin eagerly conversing with the equally loud Gimli. Such comrades that she had made already, never before could she have dreamed of such incredible meetings.

Whilst the Druid was happily on her way to the food hall, Arwen was tracking down a certain elusive elf-lord. She had made a singular comment about Erebol, not thinking he would take up on it so seriously. She owed to him gratitude for somehow convincing Erebol to take up a weapon, her hands free of fearful quivering. Yet now that she purposefully looked for him, the golden-haired elf was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he simply wished to avoid her gratefulness, but she would not forget what she owed him. Glorfindel might have just saved Erebol from many potential dangers, and the woman was someone she was beginning to see as either a close friend or the sister she never had; a stark contrast to both Elladan and Elrohir.

Keeping her frustration under wraps, she knew at least that she would be able to keep busy with this whilst waiting for Aragorn's return from her father's scouting assignment. A smile upturned her lips as she thought of the near childish determination Erebol had to not give up; single-mindedly focused on learning without truly understanding the full danger behind it. It was both admirable and concerning. Despite the Druid's age, the time spent in slumber must have kept her mind from aging.

The day that started bright and fair began to steadily slip into the recesses of evening, another day passing, yet the peoples of Rivendell felt no anxiety for the coming days, all it seemed, but one.

Erebol paced her room, and should she pace much more, Arwen was sure the Druid would wear a trench on the ground where she continuously walked. She had told the Druid of her father's scouts and their expected return. She had not shown her panic outwardly, choosing instead to pace as though in deep in thought. The she-elf knew that Erebol must be worrying about the time. Despite all of their work today, there was no noticeable change other than in her energy level, exhaustion etched into her posture. Two months was not enough time to turn her into a mediocre archer, much less a useful one, but it also depended on how much dedication she put into her training.

All of a sudden, Erebol stopped in her tracks and whirled on Arwen, startling her with her blazing green eyes. "I have decided! I will learn willingly and with as much strength as this body of mine can muster! Allow me your precious time in teaching me, Arweneth."

She wasn't sure what to say at first. The Druid had seemed rather relaxed with terms of etiquette, this being the first time she had referred to her so formally, but in the circumstances, she assumed it meant that Erebol was fully committed to asking for her aide. "If you ask it of me, then I shall give. We will spend the following days in harsh training to ready for your departure. Are you thus prepared?"

From the look in her eyes, it was a foolish question to ask. "My heart has used this time to prepare itself. Nevermore, I think, should I feel as fixated as I am now. I shan't budge from this decision of mine, lest you forcefully turn me away."

"Your heart has spoken to me thusly, and I shall answer in return. On the morrow's dawn, I will return to continue your training. For meals and rest I shall release you only, and by the end of these days given to us, you shall be of adequate skill to defend yourself." Arwen laid a sturdy hand on Erebol's shoulder, sensing the tenseness in her body that seemed to relax at the contact. "I will not fail you, mellon."

The Druid's watery smile lifted her lips as she placed a hand over Arwen's, "Thank you. For what will have given me. I will surely find a way to repay your kindness." Arwen simply shook her head, dismissing the notion, "Any repayment you can give is to survive."

Later that night, as the moon shone high in the early winter sky, the stars twinkling down like flickering lanterns, goodnights had been exchanged and she brushed through her freshly washed hair, sitting upon the windowsill. The coming days would bring her much change, change that had never happened to any druid before her. She would become the first fighter of her kind, and the thought itself both frightened and excited her. Setting aside the brush, she leaned back against the pillow propped against the wall, forehead pressed onto cool glass.

Slowly, her prayers began to take shape, ancient words seeking the bond between the earth and thus to the Valar. This bond, had already begun to renew itself, but like all things, time was a healer required. Her prayers could urge and plead, but time must mend the weak roots that had been left unattended to by an age. Gently, she felt her body begin to restore its energy, her prayers replacing sleep while the time slowly crept by.

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It's a shorter chapter, but I have a lot planned for what happens next so I wanted to have a proper set up as well as some character development between Arwen and Erebol. Again, I hope you enjoyed and I encourage your criticism!

~Chaux-De-Citron~


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, as much as I may wish to...

Well, here it is. My longest chapter yet, and only a day behind schedule. ^^;

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Chapter 3: Treacherous Beginning

Such nervousness gripped her, it came as surprise that none had yet commented on her uncharacteristic stiffness. Then again, at such a late hour, even she could hardly pick out the silhouettes of the others. Lord Elrond, shadowed by the singular lantern behind the Rivendell gate, stood alone to bid them farewell. Words of warning and of caution he shared with a weary tongue. By night they would travel until first light breached the horizon. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid, to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you." His words held a finality to them. Even should one deign that they had gone as far as they could, they would not be returning to Imladris.

Her eyes strayed to the huddled group of child-like figures, a sense of courageous anxiety seemed to hover around them, so determined to do their best, but not fully understanding the danger that lay ahead of them. Crude weapons flashed behind closed eyelids, a white mark upon a dark and twisted brow. The Hobbits would not know true danger, but it would soon be upon them.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

One figure pulled away from the huddled group, such a brave heart Frodo had. His feet were uncertain, but unfaltering. As he drew closer to the wizard, she could hear his whisper, "Mordor, Gandalf. Is it right or left?" A smile dimpled her cheeks and she wondered if perhaps this would be the last smile she could portray in the coming days or if what courage she mustered might help her remain optimistic beneath the shadows. Bill the Pony, bright-eyed and perhaps the only creature showing eagerness at departing swayed as they began to file to the left-hand path. Surrounded by the whispers of ancient trees, Erebol drowned herself in the flighty gossip as they trudged onward and on, Glorfindel's toy busying her hands as her training continued even without her teacher. What suffocating silence the men-folk must have endured with not a spoken word and only the rustling of leaves and hoof beats to accompany their steps. Like this they continued until the first light peaked over the mountaintops and shone down through the nearly bare trees.

"This is where we shall camp. Tis dangerous to go any further during the lightened hours. No fire we shall make, but feast on Lembas. Regain your strength for tonight." Aragorn brought them to a small clearing surrounded by dead brush and a high wall of nettle strung between the thick trees. Sam set about tethering Bill to a nice spot with sprigs of grass still bravely strutting above the surface into the cold. There was no river or small stream nearby, but their flasks were far from empty. Another night they might last before they were forced to find some water. The men began to set up camp, rolling out thick blankets that might succeed in shielding them from the morning chill.

Legolas set roost in the tangled branches overhead, setting up as the first watch. How weary the Hobbits became at the announcement of no food but the unsatisfying Elven Bread. With no fire, Erebol could only make out the others by shape and size of their silhouettes. Boromir to her right and Merry and Pippin to her left, she leaned against the base of a nettle-free tree, Glorfindel's toy in her hands once again, determined to be of some use before she separated from the Fellowship in Lorien. Her gut told her trouble lay in their path, but without a firm connection to the Valar, what trouble and when it would come still remained unclear to her.

"You shouldn't bother with trying." His voice near startled her into dropping the device, how unexpected his comment had been. "What do you mean?"

"We have trained in our craft for years, and no matter how mythical you Druids are, it is doubtful you'll be able to draw a bow before we reach the secret woods. Your efforts put us at risk for in the chaos of battle it might be us with an arrow in our backs." Boromir was not mistrustful of her, only stating a fact as he saw it however harsh he relayed it.

"I try because I cannot stand by and do nothing but cower. Not now that I have a chance to do something. I will not shoot before I am sure of my aim and will do my best to keep from accidentally sticking my own comrades." The rugged Man did not seem appeased by this at all, but merely turned on his side, his back facing her. She knew that perhaps if she appeared more Elven, he would not doubt her as he did. Elves, no matter the gender, where skilled archers and warriors. She looked a little too much like a human woman, no doubt, that it seemed wrong of her to be fighting, or attempting to, alongside them.

A stifled cough to her left had her turning her head to face Merry's bright eyes, "Don't worry 'bout the Tall Folk, we know you can do it!" A curly head popped up behind him, and Pippin's wide smile was illuminated by the moonlight, "Count on us to protect you, M'Lady, no Orc'll come near you with us around!" Their words lifted what self-doubt began to creep within her, and she smiled back, "What beast of Mordor will dare to approach such brave Hobbits of the Shire?" Silence crept over the camp as one by one, they succumbed to a dreamless sleep. Erebol watching over them as she prayed through the night.

The morning passed in restless slumber, the menfolk changing watch with every stage of the sun's path to setting. Only as darkness crept across the blue and stars began to light up the heavens did they pack once more and renew this tiring walk.

They kept a steady pace into the Wild lands that remained unchanging despite the distance already tread. On and on, they walked until their feet ached and even further still. A fortnight passed in such a manner until a cold, clear dawn announced the end of their night march. Holly trees, as ancient as the hills they grew from, greeted them as a ridge of dark leaves and blood-red berries gleaming in dew. "We have done well," Gandalf sighed in admiration of the historic land before them, "We have reached the borders of the country that Men call Hollin; many Elves lived here in happier days, when Eregion was its name. Five-and-forty leagues as the crow flies we have come, though many long miles further our feet have walked. The land and weather will be milder now, but perhaps all the more dangerous without the cover of clouds."

"But the mountains are ahead of us," said Pippin. "We must have turned eastward in the night."

"No," Gandalf shook his head, his long beard following its swinging path, "The sun still rises to our right so we face the north. What remained hidden by dark's veil is revealed in clear light. Beyond those peaks the range bends round south-west. There are many maps in Elrond's house, but I suppose you never thought to look at them?"

"Yes I did, sometimes," said Pippin, "but I do not remember them. Frodo has a better head for that sort of thing."

"I need no map," said Gimli, who had come up with Legolas, and was gazing out before him with a strange light in his deep eyes. "There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales. They stand tall in our dreams: Baraz, Zirak, Shathur. Only once have I seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dum, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue. Yonder stands Barazinbar, the Redhorn, cruel Caradhras; and beyond him are Silvertine and Cloudyhead: Celebdil the White, and Fanuidhol the Grey, that we call Zirakzigil and Bundushathur. There the Misty Mountains divide, and between their arms lies the deep-shadowed valley which we cannot forget: Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale, which the Elves call Nanduhirion."

"It is for the Dimrill Dale that we are making," said Gandalf. "If we climb the pass that is the Redhorn Gate, under the far side of Caradhras, we shall come down by the Dimrill Stair into the deep vale of the Dwarves. There lies the Mirrormere, and there the River Silverlode rises in its icy springs."

"Dark is the water of Kheled-zaram," said Gimli, "and cold are the springs of Kibil-nala. My heart trembles at the thought that I may see them soon."

"May you have joy at the sight, my good dwarf!" exclaimed Gandalf as he clapped a hand onto his shoulder, "but whatever you may do, we at least cannot stay in that valley. We must go down the Silverlode into the secret woods, and so to the Great River, and then—"

He paused.

"Yes, and where then?" asked Merry.

"To the end of the journey – in the end," said Gandalf, a faraway look in eyes hidden behind bushy brows. "We cannot look too far ahead. Let us be glad that the first stage is safely over. Once we have passed the Dale, we will be parting with our friend Erebol to the hospitality of the Lady of the Wood, a little more time and we shall see you to safety. I think we will rest here, not only today but tonight as well. There is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there."

"That is true," said Legolas. "But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them. Only I hear the stones lament them: _deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone. _They are gone. They sought the Havens long ago." His brow furrowed in concentrated confusion, "A whisper I hear among them of a being separate from those Elves, one cared for by the trees and the Green of this land. A great battle and a scattering of the children of the Valar."

"It was I." Erebol sighed, a small, sad sigh. "A battle, it could hardly be called, it was a massacre. My people were far from fighters and could only hope to outrun Sauron's terror. I know I am not the last of the Druids, but where the other survivors are, I could not hope to find. Vast is this land, and to what ends of the earth should I traverse in search of them? Sauron would never guess that one he sought would hide in a land so ravaged, and so here I hid. Slumbered for many an age and protected by the Green I had once helped grow."

"Then you were there? When the Druids were chased out by Sauron?" Pippin asked, amazement in his voice, "That must have been nigh over 5000 years ago!"

"A question comes to me unbidden, and I must ask; how is it that a race of beings gifted with foresight could not foresee their ending?" Gandalf brought forth a reasonable riddle, but it was one easily answered. "In order to not attract attention to our place of hiding, we surrounded the area with magic. Green of all kinds, we seeded throughout, and its magic kept us hidden from his gaze. Unfortunately, it worked both ways. It protected us from the Dark One, but it also made us vulnerable to the future happenings. At the time it was a risk we made readily. Had we known, I doubt we would have done so." Erebol's eyes drifted over the peaceful hills, how different they appeared from her youth, how ancient the Green now seemed. Years she had passed in the blink of an eye, and how different the world was now. So unfamiliar and so many things forgotten in the passage of time.

The morning was spent with more cheer than the past few days had allowed, a small fire already beginning to take shape under the care of the Hobbit, Samwise. With the Fellowship not expecting to begin again until the next evening, they would have plenty enough rest, now was the time awarded for hot food and peaceful chatter. Chatter, had not Merry and Pippin asked to learn swordplay. Though Aragorn was content to sit back and smoke his pipe, Boromir was too restless, some exercise needed not in the form of walking. Erebol watched them set up, blades drawn and stances taken. Assigning numbers to certain movements, Boromir began with Pippin first, "Two, one, five. Good. Very good."

"Move your feet!" Aragorn gave his encouragement from the sidelines, white smoke seeping from his lips. Erebol watched idly until a plate was pushed beneath her nose. "M'Lady."

"Thank you, Sam. This looks delicious." Indeed it did, much more appetizing than the endless amount of Lembas bread they have been eating. The smell tickled her nose and she quickly downed the food, feeling her strength return with every bite. She'd been sneaking off during the day while the Men kept watch to allow time to pray to the Valar. Little by little, she was rebuilding her connection to the Gods and the Green, yester morning she had heard his whisper and it had filled her with a great cheer. Her power needed only a little more time to mend before she might once more foresee what the future held in store for this band of warriors and Hobbits.

As she ate, she began to notice a curious feeling at the tips of her fingers. Setting aside the plate, she rubbed them together, realizing what it was she had not noticed before. Calluses. It seemed her constant use of Glorfindel's toy had begun to leave its mark upon her hands, once delicate and soft, yet now riddled with the mark of labor. It gave her a small sense of pride, and she freed her borrowed bow from her pack. Lifting it into position, arrowless, and testing her strength on the string. Her arm was not shaking as much, and the string was moving farther than before.

She turned, the bow still in hand with one eye closed to pinpoint an imaginary target, only to turn on Aragorn, a half-smile on his lips. Lowering the weapon quickly, she asked, "Do I amuse you?"

"Very much so." Aragorn answered without hesitation, fueling her embarrassment. "But it also eases my worries, if only by a little. I will do my best to protect you, so as not to be the bearer of bad news to Arwen." The look in the Ranger's eyes when he spoke of Arwen had her heart quicken. Those two truly loved each other, so much so, that it seemed like one of the romantic tales her mother often told her of. Breaking her from her nostalgic thoughts, Aragorn airily exhaled a ring of smoke before speaking, "If a battle should occur, you must know how to shoot an arrow at a movie enemy. Since I do not have a way for you to practice here, then you must remember it in theory. Take into account how fast the enemy is moving and shoot ahead of him. If you shoot at him, he will have moved out of the way, but if you shoot before him, he will walk into the attack."

Bowing her head in thanks, her mind whirled with this new information. Truly, she knew she would not have the luxury of firing at non-moving enemies, but having to shoot at a roaming target and move herself just seemed to enlarge her chances at missing entirely.

"Aaah!" Her head lifted to where Merry and Pippin were sparring. "Sorry!" Boromir's apology went ignored as Pippin kicked the Man's shin, Merry not far behind, latching onto his back and toppling him over, "Get him!"

"For the Shire! Hold him down! Hold him! Merry!" Despite teaming up on him, Boromir still managed to stumble back to his feet, both Hobbits stuck beneath his arms and struggling to free themselves. Aragorn chuckled at the sight, her own laughter joining his at the refreshingly anxiety-free atmosphere.

_Spies! Spies! Wicked Spies!_

But it was not to last. The trees called out around her, and she scrambled to her feet, "All is not well. We are being watched. Legolas!" The Elf nodded, "I hear it as well, but there is naught but the sound of trees around us."

"What is that?" Sam's question brought everyone's attention to the south, a dark cloud, lonely in the sky, moving towards them. Gimli huffed into his beard, "Nothing, just a whiff of cloud! Pay no mind to it!"

That was no cloud, crows, but why- "Crebain from Dunland!" "Hide!" "Hurry!" Legolas' identification of the 'cloud' was the catalyst to chaos. Everyone around her scrambled to hide the bags and dive beneath cover. Sam doused the fire, scattering the ashes. Fear froze her in place and she could only watch as the crows came ever closer until a hand covered her mouth, and she was bodily dragged beneath the brush, twigs snagging at her hair. Erebol's nostrils flared, catching the scent of the hand over her mouth. _Boromir_.

The sound of birdcalls and frenzied wings was nearly deafening to her ears, but with his hand covering her mouth, not a single sound escaped her, not even her gasping breaths. Only when the Crebain were distant to the north and west did he release her, crawling from the hiding spot first. Wiggling out after him, she found the others similarly coming forward, one after the other. Gandalf's face betrayed the frustration the Crebain brought, "Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched. As soon as darkness falls we must make for the Redhorn Gate."

At hearing that they must move so soon had Erebol quite ready to voice her complaints. Druids were made for fast sprints and quick recovery, their bodies not built for the stamina needed for such long distance traveling. However, she knew her place. She had been the one to insist on coming, and she had known it would be difficult. She could see how much the others were suffering as well, and it would do no one any good to hear her whining. "Well if that isn't a plague and a nuisance!" Although it seemed Pippin had no such qualms, "All because of a pack of crows! I had looked forward to a real good meal: something hot." Poor Pippin and Merry. So busy they had been, learning the craft of the sword, that they had not eaten before the Crebain's arrival cost them the heat of the fire. They and Boromir had been forced to lunch on Lembas once again.

"Well, you can go on looking forward," said Gandalf. "There may be many unexpected feasts ahead for you. For myself I should like a pipe to smoke in comfort, and warmer feet. However, we are certain of one thing at any rate: it will get warmer as we get south."

"Too warm, I shouldn't wonder," muttered Sam to Frodo. "But I'm beginning to think it's time we got a sight of that Fiery Mountain, and saw the end of the Road, so to speak. I thought at first that this here Redhorn, or whatever its name is, might be it, till Gimli spoke his piece. A fair jaw-cracker dwarf-language must be!" Erebol, steady behind Frodo and Sam, chuckled at his last comment, "Indeed, a language that cannot be spoke for long by those who are not Dwarves, not lest you wish for your teeth to chatter out of your mouth. Alas, I wish most for the warmth. We Druids are not meant for the cold, we need heat for strength, else we shrivel up like flowers in snow."

As the sun delved behind the western horizon, the slopes of Caradhras seemingly glowed red in the dying rays. Erebol, having fallen back behind Bill the Pony to walk alongside Boromir, remained silent for a while.

"Thank you. When the crows came closer, I froze. Had it not been for you, I would have exposed our presence." He did not respond to her for a while, and she wondered if he had heard her at all. About to repeat her gratitude, he gruffly cut in, "Do not thank me and remember this moment. If you freeze at the sight of crows how much more will you be terrified of Orcs? We cannot always be there." He strode ahead of her, his longer legs carrying him quickly. It shamed her to know she had messed up, but he was right, as he had been before. She wasn't used to facing danger, and crow-spies, perhaps the least dangerous, had caused her to choke. In a moment of weakness, she wondered if perhaps it would have done both her and the Fellowship good if she had gone separately with an escort of elves.

When the last of the light extinguished from the skies, the stars began to brighten in turn, and each morning after dawned clearer than the last until Caradhras' sheer naked sides rose up before them in mighty splendor. The air was thick with a settling fog, dispersed only by the oncoming wind. "Winter deepens behind us. We shall be on our way high up towards the Redhorn Gate. We may well be waylaid by evil, but the weather may prove a more deadly enemy than any." Aragorn, who stood at the front near Gandalf, spoke with a heavy sigh, "It will do no good to delay our passage. We must make all haste and not wait for the night to fall."

With the decision made, and at Boromir's suggestion, each to their own carried as much wood as they would bear without being burdened. Bill the Pony, too, was saddled with long, dry branches, though Erebol doubted so much wood would be used. Gandalf had warned that the Gate would be watched and they would not risk it unless they stood between fire and death.

The Company made good progress up the mountain, at least at first. The path wound them in circles and often they were forced to double-back onto another trail entirely, for large stones blocked the narrow roads or large pits of the cliff-side passages had fallen away. When, at last, night had fallen, they had barely made it to the knees of Caradhras, the Gate still a journey ahead, made more treacherous by the snow that fell heavily and swirled about them in a sharp northward wind. Travel slowed until it came to a stop completely, the darkness aided by snow made it impossible to see ahead. At last they came to a narrow edge, shallowly shielded by the cliff at their backs that leaned outward ever so slightly, causing the falling stones to roll out into the deep ravine before them.

When at last they could go no further, stranded where they stood, did they dare to try and light a fire, Boromir dryly commenting, "It seems we be trapped between death and fire now, let us not fear to be seen." The snow fell so thickly that it had already built up as high as the Hobbits' heads and even above the head of Bill the Pony. Gandalf, with use of wizard magic, lit the wood as even Aragorn's Ranger experience could not light a fire long enough for it to catch.

"If there are any to see, then doubtless I am revealed to them. I have written _Gandalf is here_ in signs that all can read from Rivendell to the mouths of Anduin."

None in the Company could be bothered now with the threat of watchers, for the fire burned merrily before them, casting a joyous red light onto their faces as they huddled around. Snow melted and turned to slush beneath their feet, yet they warmed their hands gratefully. How long it would last, Erebol could not know. The wood as burning fast and still the snow fell.

The fire burned low and the last bundle of wood was added, delaying the loss of fire for a few more moments, but already a sense of unease rippled through the Fellowship. "The night is getting old," said Aragorn, "The dawn is not far off."

"If any dawn can pierce these clouds." Said Gimli.

"We must not fall to despair. Look, and see how the sky lightens, the snow lessens, and the wind falls quiet. The way might now be open to us." Gandalf spoke true, the dawn shone forth and though clouds still circled the head of Caradhras, at least now they were not bombarded with the threat of being buried alive.

Legolas, who seemed to be the only still of light heart, spoke, "If Gandalf would go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for us." Indeed, while Legolas, light of foot might be able to travel atop the snow, the rest of the Company was forced to trudge through, a slow way by any means. "But I must have something to work on. I cannot burn snow."

"Well," said Boromir, "when heads are at a loss, bodies must serve, as we say in my country." Aragorn, understanding what Boromir intended, nodded in agreement, "Then let us force a path, you and I."

And so it went, Boromir, though less in height to Aragorn, was broader and thicker and so he went first, shoving snow to either side of him with Aragorn following close behind. Legolas guided them through, pointing out weak places and keeping them from passing into a blocked path. Gandalf followed behind the Men, using his staff to force any remaining snow out of the way as Erebol followed behind with the Hobbits and Gimli, Bill the Pony taking up the rear.

It passed in such a manner until it neared midday when the sky again began to thicken and snow fell once more. The chill in the air was worse than before, freezing the very blood in their veins until their faces were blue. As fast as the Men could clear the snow, the Hobbits and Gimli were easily buried, until they were left no choice. Boromir and Aragorn retreated behind Gandalf, Boromir hauling up Pippin and Merry into his arms while Aragorn took care of Frodo. Sam was safe enough to go on his own, Bill the Pony and Gimli his companions. Erebol walked as Legolas, though she kept her back to the cliff, her hands tight on the face of the rock as though she feared a strong gust would carry her away. Gandalf now was the only one fighting the path, progress slowed until they were being veiled faster than they could move.

"Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; nai yarvaxea rasselya!" The howls of the wind seemed to form words, unfamiliar to her ears.

"There is a fell voice on the air!" Legolas warned the others, and as the voice grew louder, so the storm grew harsher until a deafening crack resounded in their ears, as if the very mountain was crumbling to pieces.

"It's Saruman!" Enormous chunks of stone hailed down from above, the Fellowship pressing themselves against the cliff-face as the path was assaulted, pieces breaking off and rolling down the ravine, though none of the Company was caught with it. "His arm has grown long indeed, to trouble us in the North." Boromir's eyes narrowed out into the storm as though he could catch sight of a ghostly figure in white, commanding the mountain.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must go back!" Aragorn yelled out to the front, Frodo and Pippin clinging to him with as much strength as they could muster. The Istari was adamant. They were almost there. If he could just quell Caradhras, they could bear the storm.

"Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!" Gandalf stood atop the snow, his staff thrust out before him. The wind seemed to shriek as it culminated into such a horde of unnatural energy, unleashed onto the mountain in the form of lightning. Ice and snow rolled down, intent on burying the Company beneath its weight. Erebol felt herself crumple beneath the blanket, catching sight of Legolas yanking Gandalf away from the edge before her vision went white.

She couldn't move, not her arm, nor even her hand. With the way she had been standing, the snow had forced her into a painful bow, and her small figure couldn't lift the weight of the snow off of her. The cold seeped through her clothes and she wondered if this would be her end. With a lower tolerance to cold than the others, she would freeze before long. Face-down in the snow, she shook her head back and forth, clearing a small enough space for her to breathe. The wind was so loud, even though her ears were blocked she could still hear its shrill whistle.

"H-Help!" Precious air wasted on a meek yelp. She couldn't feel her hands. Her legs had long lost their senses. Cold crept up her spine, leaving a chilling numbness in its place. It was so cold. Maybe, if she slept, she would wake in a warmer place. Yes, that's right. Her dreams had been so warm. Full of sunlight and tall grass. Trees that reached high up into the sky, with branches that spread far all edges of the earth. All she had to do was fall asleep, and she would be there. Erebol's eyes fluttered. '_Why am I resisting? That place waits for me… but wasn't there something I had to do? Someone… There was someone…'_

A man's voice echoed in her head, _'Do not make me the bearer of bad news for Arwen.'_

'_Aragorn?'_ That's right. The Company. They were up there, somewhere up there. She just had to move! Warmth spread through her body, a shot of lightning on her veins. Her elbow jerked and his a wall of snow. Again, and again, until it finally began to budge, bulging the snow outward.

As her strength began to die down, she could feel her burden become lighter, until hands, large, rough hands grasped her elbow and pulled her up. Plucking her from the snow as though she were a rabbit to be caught. Light-headed from the sudden movement, her eyes rolled back, feeling herself get tucked away like a doll, voices swirling around her in a confusing jumble.

'_Who? Who saved me?'_

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So, who do you think saved her? As always, please leave whatever critiques you think are necessary~ I hope you enjoyed reading~

~Chaux-De-Citron~


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